Augustus Hill: Narrator

The story of the prodigal son is perhaps one of the most famous stories in the entire world. It has all the great elements of a story in it. There's redemption, family values, greed, loss, and the big winner lust. The first telling of the story was by the holiest man in the world. We know him today as Jesus Christ, although fuck if I know what anyone else calls him. In Oz, everyone's got a name for their God.

Robson is pacing in his cell, as always. Schillinger blinks and breathes easily every once in a while, but somewhere in him mind a plan is coming together. That's the problem with you, Robson. You're all bark and no bite. Without me, you'd be strutting around like the cocksucker I know you are. Without me, this brotherhood would fall to shit.

Robson snarls, remembering that his fearless leader is present in the cell. "I can't believe your son. That punk; that level of disrespect."

"Calm down, Robson."

"And you just sit there, letting Beecher think he can get away with making your son into his little fag?! We've got the numbers on our side. We could…" Robson fakes a punch to the wall in a show of solidarity.

"What exactly? Do you imagine my son wants to be with the brotherhood right now?" Vern just shakes his head in Robson's direction. "My son's greatest sin was never in trusting his old man. Why should it be any different here?"

Robson grimaced. "All I know is, if I'd talked like that to my old man, I'd have gotten more than a belt across my ass."

"And right your dad was. You have to know how to raise kids properly. A day in the hole will be good for the boy, teach him his place. If not, we'll do things the old-fashioned way." Vern knew he had Robson's attention when Robson smiled, bearing teeth that reminded Vern of canine fangs in many ways. For all his talk, Robson was tough. But he could be broken. Oz wasn't a place where the inflexible could survive. "Besides, this might not matter by the time he gets out of the hole."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, you've got to put your sons on the altar and see if you raise the dagger high enough." Vern smirked and Robson pretended to understand.

"You're going to shank your own son?"

"No, idiot! I had something special sent to his private cell."

Vern's stoolie in B Block arrived for his shift change with malicious intent. He had the orders from Schillinger and thought the kid deserved what he got. It didn't matter if it was wrong or right; when Vern Schillinger is your father, you'd better do what the damn man says. The officer thought Vern was brilliant, astute. And, in the end, tough love was better than no fatherly love at all.

Andrew looked up, his eyes feverish. He wasn't used to solitary. Sure, Andy was used to his own head often enough. The place was rank, infested with the scent of too much bleach masking even more dirt. There was nowhere to sit and you knew that lying would give you some kind of germ, but who the fuck cared? Andy cared enough now; he had found the defiance within him to stand up for his dad. Andy had stood up for himself.

"Here, a present from your father." The officer had dropped the paper bag on the floor.

Andy scurried away from the OC like a cockroach from light. "What is it?"

The officer just smirked all the more. What did it matter? The kid already knew what he deserved. Or he should have. The punk couldn't have looked older than sixteen.

Jesus told the story of the prodigal son right after this pair of brothers had hassled him about who got their fair share of what old pops was leaving behind on earth. The story was probably intended to help the audience feel all satisfied on the inside. Funny thing is that, the story itself makes you wonder what was wrong with the main characters. A dad who lets himself get walked all over. A younger son who can't do a day's work in his life. And an older son who constantly bitches and acts "holier-than-thou". And then a preacher will come along and challenge you to see yourself as a character. Well, if God's the father and a sinner is the younger son, then who the fuck do those choices leave the rest of us to be? You got it. Mr. "Holier-Than-Thou."

When Tobias Beecher looked in the mirror, he didn't see himself any more. Ever since coming to Oz, his reflection became more about the part of himself that Emerald City had raped until there was nothing left but a shell of the former self. Not all of the change had been bad; at least he had begun to fight the demons. The only problem was that Oz came with its own set of demons.

He was playing with fire; Beecher knew he was. What he was going to do in regards to Andy would have major effects on what his first wife had referred to as karma. Ever the secular lawyer, Tobias had just ignored her. When his hand shook with depression, tiredness, shame, or even rage; he had gone for a drink. Tobias Beecher had been killing himself with drink like his father and his father before him.

"You know, if you make a face like that; it will stick that way." Toby was projecting Keller's voice. Keller wouldn't dare stop by now uninvited and just plop down on Andy's empty bed. Andy was locked away in the hole right now. The poor bastard kid being destroyed by the sins of the father.

Chris Keller was the devil on Toby's shoulder, and, to be honest, he may not have deserved such a title. If you wanted to wonder how screwed up humanity could get, just looking around at the inmates of Oz could give you a great idea of that. Hell, looking at people like MacManus could give you the same sort of ideas.

"What do you want?" Toby growled. He figured the best way to deal with his projection wouldn't be to ignore it. Ignoring it had lead to his well, everything he'd allowed Vern to do. And he was not that bitch pussy. He could never allow himself to be what they referred to as a bitch pussy again, which would be someone with enough trust and love in their soul to allow Chris Keller the eventual opportunity to knife you in the back. Hell, Toby would almost prefer the knifing in the back to what Keller had actually done. It's not as though being in prison made him less anticipatory of pain. Being in prison meant you had tunnel vision about the pain to come, as in you just couldn't see it because you knew that your brain had shut down. Sister Marie could never understand that. That's why the pushing for all the emotions and the responses made it so hard. She wanted a humanity instilled in the inmates that they simply shouldn't have.

"Oh, come on, Toby," dream Chris reclined on the bed," I know when you're upset. But I gotta hand it to you that you're taking this much better than I thought you would."

"Really?" Toby arched his eyebrow. "Because I'm pretty sure that you still can't figure out what happened to Metzger." Toby saw his face in the mirror again. But it wasn't his clean-shaven almost lawyer face. It was the face of that wolf that had gone from cripple to sadist in a few seconds. He had become Oz in just that moment; the rage of inmates seeping through his bones. He understood now how man could kill for his own pride, his own projection, for his own demons.

Dream Chris perked up, his eyes lighting, as he folded his hands into a pillow for the back of his neck. "Oh yeah. Killing Metzger and not even feeling remorse and then playing games with Andy to get back at Schillinger. I got to say that you're the most surprising guy I've ever met. I know it would kill me to keep it all bottled up inside and not tell anyone. You'd have more respect in here than anybody for what you did."

"I don't want that kind of respect."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't want to become that person."

"Liar. When you get right down to it, Tobe, there are two kinds of people in this world. You have the fighters and you have the fleers. You found that thing inside of you that kept you from fleeing." Chris crouched from the bottom bunk and came over to a hairsbreadth from Toby. "I'm proud of you for finding that part of yourself."

"Well, I'm not." Toby was obstinate. Although, if he were honest with himself, he wasn't so sure that he wasn't lying.

"You're not what?" Andy's voice sailed through the door.

Toby called over as Andy sunk down on his bed. "Hey! You're back." Then his voice shot down a millimeter. "How are you holding up? I know the first time in the hole can be…difficult."

Andy nodded weakly, inviting Toby to take the spot next to him. "Dad sent me some heroin."

"What did you do?"

"I stuffed it down the piss hole. I mean, that was the right thing to do, wasn't it?" Andy's eyes were crazy with a mix of emotions.

Toby nodded in solemn understanding. "I'm proud of you, Andrew. You stood up to your old man and you survived your first test. A lot of the pricks in here aren't as strong as you were yesterday."

Andy shrugged. "I owe you for that. You and Keller and Reilly."

Somewhere inside Toby, the cruel part of him laughed. He knew what they were doing and he knew that he'd eventually have broken the boy. Vern himself had accelerated the process. He just couldn't tell if he were serious about wanting to deep tongue the boy or not. In all honesty, sex without Keller just didn't appeal to him presently and sex with Keller was both somewhat repulsive and might send the plan out the window. Andy already had the mentor crush. He was giving Toby permission to decide the next step. How far down the yellow brick road could Toby the lion go?

The story of the prodigal son is a pretty simple one. The youngest son decides that he's tired of living under his dad's shadow. His lazy ass doesn't want to do anything more than party. The crazy part is that his dad never even hesitates when giving his young son the inheritance he's supposed to get when the old man dies. So, he goes out and he parties some and suddenly, oh shit, there's a famine in the land! Now, the son with everything becomes the slave with nothing to show for it all.

Andy woke up in a fowl mood; Beecher could feel it in his bones. It was the way his feet slammed on the floor; Toby knew that slam. It was the way he turned his shoulder when Toby tried to reach out to see what was bothering him. It wasn't another withdrawal. It was just pure, unadulterated anger. It was the kind of anger that could have gotten him killed.

Luckily, the kid knew enough not to start talking. He was wising up, and quickly. Someone once told me that the smartest thing the Swiss ever did was to remain neutral when war began to brew. Beecher couldn't remember the entire passage, but knew the gist of it had to do with the heart of the men. They were lone clock-makers, not a group of warriors.

"I don't need your help." Andy had snarled again and began to walk away.

Said had turned then and looked at me in amusement as I gripped my cane. "He is angry today. That anger is not good."

I consider Said's words for a moment. He's a good choice for an imam. "Andy's going through a tough period right now."

"You have great pity for the boy?"

"Yes."

"Because he is just Schillinger's son or is there another reason?"

"It's complicated."

"You'd best protect him from himself." Toby nodded at Said. Perhaps playing games had taken away some of Beecher's keener senses. He'd had to shut part of himself down to survive after Metzger. Would this feud with Vern finally take him down?

"What the hell was that?" Beecher bursts through the pod door with dramatic effect, making sure his knuckles look white with the grip of his cane.

"You saw that nigger Muslim get in my way!" Andy's hands flung out wide in his own defense.

"Said's a good man. He's never attacked with provocation and he's well-protected. I'd suggest you just don't go looking for a fight." Toby replied calmly.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"You're taking it a little too far. I'd wish you'd tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, okay? Just get off my back. I'm going to go hit the bags." Andy sped out of the room and past Keller, who peeked in with mystified eyes.

"What's his problem?"

Toby shrugged. "I don't know."

Keller nodded. For a moment, they shared an understanding. "I'm heading toward the gym. I'll keep an eye out for the kid; make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

Toby nods, unsure that he can keep this wall up forever. "Thanks."

"Did he send you to trail me?" Those are Andy's first words as Chris comes up behind him and moves around to hold the bag. The gym is almost empty and that's probably best, considering what's about to happen.

"No. It just so happens, I have a regiment I like to follow and you're in the way." Keller grips the bag, focusing on the end to his means. The kid's wicked angry with explosive punching that's not moving the bag much. "Would you at least like some pointers?"

"You saying I can't defend myself?"

Chris shook his head. "No, but if you do keep punching like that; you're going to throw your shoulder and it'll be useless in a fight. Consider trying it like this."

Andy slid over slightly, giving Keller just enough room to show him error in his form. The kid watched and then muttered thanks before returning to the speed bag.

"Andrew." Vern's voice echoed through the court. He stopped punching for a moment before considering his father and walking toward the fence separating the two.

"Happy birthday." Vern mustered all the affection he could sound in the tone.

Chris watched from the bag. "It's your birthday, Andy?"

Vern's eyes shifted while his face tightened slightly. "This doesn't involve you, Keller." His eyes shift back to Andy. His eyes shift back to Andy. "I got you something."

Andy takes the newest copy of Fox and flips through a few pages. "Thanks." He pockets the copy in the back of his sweats and heads back towards the bag.

"Is that all you've got to say to me?"

Andy shakes his head, even Keller can feel the anger vibrating through the words. "You think this is going to make up for all the years I spent without you, without a card or an acknowledgment of my existence? One skin magazine in this sausage factory? Now you're just being insulting."

"Hey! I'm trying to make amends here, kid." Vern stated flatly.

"Yeah, well, go make amends to your jockey Robson. You know what?" Andy flung the copy of Fox from his waistband down to the floor. "I don't want your skin. I think I'm done with the bag."

Keller followed the kid back to his pod. They talk as they walk. "That was pretty ballsy."

"Yeah, well, I'm not worried about it."

"Pretty shitty birthday you're giving yourself." Keller remarked off-hand.

"Yeah, well, I'm stuck here. That's how I feel about it. If it weren't for dad, maybe I'd be celebrating twenty at some nice tittie bar."

Keller nodded in approval. "Twenty's a good year. But, you know, I've seen fifteen or so birthdays in and out of jail. It's only as bad as you make it."

"How so?" Andy inquired.

"For one thing, you don't have to worry about getting home drunk." Keller shrugged.

"I suppose."

"And if the kitchen likes you, they'll give an extra tater tot on your plate or something at lunch."

Andy snorts in appreciation of the thought. Beecher nods as they re-enter the pod, putting down his copy of Crime and Punishment. "That was a short visit."

Andy's energy goes from angry to nervous. Keller peals out to give the kid some space, not wanting to watch Toby too long for fear he'll give the game away. "I need to apologize."

Beecher watches him, interested. "It's okay."

"Do you want to know what I'm apologizing for?"

Beecher shrugs. "It's up to you if you want to tell me."

"I was just kind of bothered because it's my…birthday."

Beecher jumps down from his bunk, clasping his hand on Andy's shoulder. "Well, hey, happy birthday. At least you're one more day out of this place."

Andy nods. That's probably a good way to think of it.

The prodigal son, at its heart, is supposed to be a story about redemption. The younger son finds himself slopping pigs and wakes up one day realizing that he doesn't have to go through that shit anymore, literally. He'd rather go back and work for his dad as a servant than starve to death without anything. His dad sees him and brings him home; claiming that the time he spent away was his time dead. The older brother bitches and moans a lot. My dad would have just kicked my ass out if I'd have done that.

Andy has another series of withdrawals during the night. He's used to the feeling of Beecher being there. Beecher, for his part, never insinuates or pushes. But Andy's so starved for any sort of positivity that he's putty in Beecher's hand. Toby knows Keller's watching this; jealous and pissed off. But it's in those moments that Toby realizes he could never be exactly like Vern. His first withdrawals became the source of prison raping scenes. Beecher didn't want that life for Andy. He could break the cycle. These next few days were crucial, necessary in his recovery.

"Why are you helping me?" Andy finally breaks down. He hasn't cried, but Toby can hear the words echo in the lonely hearts of every prisoner.

"Why shouldn't I help you, Andrew?"

"You'd have every right to kill me."

Toby shook his head. "I don't have that right. Sure, I'm angered by the sins of your father. But you've shown a lot more promise than Vern ever will."

"You mean it?"

Toby nodded, looking from down his chest to across the way. Chris sulks and stalks the door. He'd give his entire life to be back in the cell. But Toby can't roll the stone away from his own heart. He needs to help Andy while also sticking it in Vern's crawl that the boy admires him. Even if he wanted Keller, he's put too much of one world in motion for that to occur again.

"It's still my birthday, Toby."

"I guess it is."

Andy looks up, his face visibly showing his worry and tender loneliness. "It's just…."

Toby shakes his head and gives a little half smile. "I know."

Keller's eyebrow raise and Toby watches him watching them. He can hear the snarls from Keller's form in his own mind. Toby's hand slides gently down Andy's body. Andy is shaking all over, but in a controlled sort of way.

Toby finds the boy's cock growing stiff. It's a little short of average size but his ball sack is comparable to Toby's own. Andy flinches just a little under Toby's expert touch. With Keller and Vern as his guides, Toby sure as hell knew the way around a man's body. The boy doesn't make a noise as Toby jerks him off. Toby prefers not being the bottom; not really being in a relationship at all anymore.

Toby can feel himself becoming excited as Andy rises to full mast. Andy's eyes are fast closed, his hands kneading into Toby's flesh. Toby can think of better ways to put one of those hands to use. He grabs Andy, forcing the boy to sink back further into him. Toby's legs stretch as he pushes his body downward, under Andy. He's made no plans for penetration; Toby just wants to see how far the boy will let him go and how far he can take this without Keller destroying something. To his unwavering surprise, he can see the merriment playing across Keller's face and a hand caressing his own bulge.

Toby's dick is thicker than Andy's and at least two inches taller when hard. He has a bit more foreskin for someone who is cut. But Andy doesn't scare. The feel of skin against skin sends him into a world of emotion. He's jerking them both off now and Toby makes little growling noises in the night. The kid's kind of squirmy as he jacks off and it's all Toby can do from just taking the boy and fucking him with his hard prick.

Keller's the hardest he's ever been too and Toby knows he's probably as close as they are. Andy cums first over his hand and that sends just a bit of cum flying onto Toby's shirt. Keller cums into the pocket of his pants, one knee popping in a bit. Toby's last to ejaculate, his hips bucking slightly into Andy as his cum lands all over the boy's cock and pubes. After a moment, Andy stands up so Toby can get to the toilet paper. They clean up without speaking and there's just a nod as they head to bed. Keller, unfortunately, can't sleep much after that.

One of the most famous pieces of art to come out of the story of the prodigal son is by the artist Rembrandt. This wasn't the guy that invented the toothpaste. No, this guy was a hardcore Renaissance painter. The painting of the Prodigal Son is as big as a wall at sits in the National Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia. The most famous mystery of that painting is who the other people are in the portrait. The younger son and father are painted together, the eye drawing mostly to the father done in a red outfit. Most people say the three other faces are the older brother, maybe some servants. I guess that all leaves it up to interpretation, doesn't it?

Andy eyes the cupcake suspiciously. "Come on, kid. Take the damn thing. I didn't poison it."

Andy takes the cupcake and shoves it in his mouth, devouring it in three bites. "There, see. Nothing wrong with celebrating a birthday, right?"

Andy begins to choke, his airways closing up as the inmate carrying the cupcake just smirks. He watches Andy flail around for awhile and then heads back to let Vern know that his mission was successful. The kid had balls attacking Keller during lunch that much was sure.

Beecher will never forgive himself for not standing in the way of the punch or maybe for playing the game at all. He forgot, sometimes purposely, that Andy was a human being. He was used like a Kleenex and then thrown out. He had potential; his father saw none and in his screwed up anger and fear, Beecher had violated him somehow worse than his dad ever could have. Tobias Beecher had taught Andy Schillinger too much, perhaps caused the boy to fall in love with him.

But, as with all things in Oz, casualties of the war can never fully stay in the mind. With the place on the brink of a Christmas riot and nothing to keep ourselves together other than our own thoughts, I often wonder if people think about the story of the prodigal son and find it as screwed up as it appears off-hand. Fathers are never that good, sons don't normally return home alive or sorry. And those older brothers? Those are usually the ones left with a real story to tell.

"Happy New Years." Beecher watches Keller brush his teeth, each violent stroke a seemingly ridiculous gesture of masculinity. Everything the man does is a futile effort to prove his toughness, Beecher muses. But he won't deny he's not attracted to Keller. Not after Keller proved himself without hesitation. Stabbing Schillinger may have given him a death sentence or may have given him life.

"Happy New Years, Beecher." Keller watches Toby watching him in the mirror. He's crazy with lust. How long has he felt that body writhe beneath him? How long has it been since Toby's breathe mingled with his own? His imagination was stretched far more times than he cared to count without someone like Toby to fuel his fire. Those skin mags, Keller thinks, aren't anything like the real deal. One more month of this and I would have gone fuckin' insane without you. But I can never tell you that.

Or maybe you already know. Toby's nearly the smartest man on the fuckin' planet. And scary if you get in his way. But right now he wants me and I don't want anything more than for him to want me. Unconditional surrender, unconditional love. Isn't that right, Sister Marie?